The Great Kirma wowed Staunton audiences in 1937

Ad that appeared in the July 31, 1937, edition of the Leader, announcing the upcoming appearance of “the great Kirma” at the Visulite.

Provided.

Kirma.

It was the only name he would allow to be used in newspaper accounts about him and was only one the public ever knew him by. Often described as a “mystery man,” this hypnotist, magician, mentalist, spiritualist and overall illusionist so effectively camouflaged his origins that few, if any, knew the truth about his background—which was not remotely as glamorous as he made it out to be.

Kirma often appeared in Staunton, usually at the Visulite Theater. His appearances were heralded in advance by half-page newspaper ads and promoted by publicity stunts on the streets of the city. Local businesses piggy-backed onto his presence in order to promote their wares, for which Kirma was undoubtedly paid a fee.

His earliest visit to Staunton was in August 1937. Prior to his arrival, the News Leader ran a syndicated column, “Bits from Belinda,” in which the mentalist was interviewed by the columnist in an undisclosed city. Writing in the third person, Belinda described meeting “the great Kirma” for the first time.

“Belinda found herself faced by a perfectly normal-looking individual, whose most outstanding characteristic seems to be a pair of large black eyes. After a cheerful little chat, she emerged feeling that Kirma might swing a good golf club perhaps, or even catch a fish (in a stream) if necessary—and his manager tells us that he is, indeed, adept at these sports.”

Kirma and his manager spun for Belinda the tale of his origins that they wanted her, and the public, to know. Kirma, it was revealed, was of English and American parentage, his father being an English army officer and his mother an American citizen. He was born in India and lived there until the age of 15. He graduated from Harvard.

“And—take note, all you admiring ladies!—he has been married for no less than eight years to a very charming young woman, a native of West Virginia. He and his wife travel about in a most luxurious house trailer, equipped with everything possible to think about and at the same time move about, on wheels.”

But aside from his marriage to a West Virginia woman and his mode of travel, nothing else published about Kirma was true. His real name was Frederick Lindsey, and he was the out-of-wedlock son of Edgar Lindsey—who was not an English army officer—and Grace E. Jones. He was born in February 1906, not in India, but in Muncie, Ind. His father died when the future mentalist was four years old; his mother then married one Hugh Cunningham.

Not mentioned in Belinda’s column was Kirma’s first marriage, in 1926 to Mildred Goodman, in Henry County, Ind. The marriage license listed Lindsey/Kirma as an “actor,” and erroneously gave his place of birth as Stockton, Calif. He was already trying to cover up his real background. That union only lasted a couple of years, but it did produce one son, Billy Lee Lindsey, born in 1927.

Another fiction was Lindsey/Kirma’s graduation from Harvard. He is not listed among the Ivy League’s alumni.

Stauntonians, of course, knew nothing about all this, which would certainly have taken the luster off his stage image as a mystical swami. His appearance at the Visulite, which was scheduled for the week of Aug. 1, was prefaced by a steady stream of self-promotion, such as this blurb in the Leader’s theater section of the newspaper.

“He has demonstrated, to the consternation of scientists, his uncanny ability to delve into the secret recesses of the human mind.”

On July 31, Kirma stirred the publicity pot when he gave a demonstration of his mental powers by driving a new Pontiac, provided by the city’s Lisky-Smith Motor Company, through the streets of Staunton while blindfolded. Spectators were allowed to inspect the blindfold to ensure its authenticity. Kirma, thus blinded, got behind the wheel of the Pontiac in front of the Visulite, cranked up the car and drove flawlessly through the streets of the downtown, making one stop at the Campfield Radio Service store for a demonstration of his mental powers.

His blindfolded journey ended back at the Visulite.

The trick was an old one. Prior to his engagement at the Visulite, Kirma had visited Staunton and driven its streets over and over until, literally, he could drive them blindfolded. The throngs watching this feat were, of course, unaware of this secret.

The Visulite was mobbed with people who showed up to see Kirma’s stage show, in which he allegedly hypnotized people and had them perform simple gags—such as being a chicken or singing like Rudy Vallee. Since then, it’s been shown that participants are rarely, if ever, actually hypnotized, but go along with the performer in the spirit of fun.

So successful was his engagement that, on the night of Aug. 7, some 2,000 people were turned away at the gate.

Another of his publicity stunts was to “hypnotize” a beautiful young woman in the display window of Montgomery Ward on Beverley Street, and leave her there, asleep, for 24 hours until he came and reawakened her. This was performed to the delight of crowds, who passed by the window at all hours of the day and night to make sure she was still asleep.

The young woman was never identified, but there’s a good likelihood that it was his wife, Myrle.

Kirma went on to perform in Waynesboro, where the chief of police forbade him from driving anywhere in the city with a blindfold. Later in the month, after Kirma had gone, the Leader ran a blurb that reported he had been arrested in Marion and fined $30 for practicing hypnotism in violation of a 1912 law.

Kirma appeared in Staunton no fewer than five times between 1937 and 1944. He came to the city once more, in 1956. This time he wasn’t billed as an amazing mentalist, but as someone who had “the answer to all your problems.”

Kirma continued to perform all over the country until at least 1976. After that, there are few mentions of him in U.S. newspapers.

In 1980, Frederick Lindsey, alias Kirma, settled with his wife in Ellenboro, W.Va. He died there on Sept. 27, 1987, and is buried in Ellenboro Cemetery.